


Precocious

by graceandfire



Series: Brightness Burns [17]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Mirror Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 19:39:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graceandfire/pseuds/graceandfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mirror Universe Captain Kirk gets turned into a kid.  But he's still...Mirror Universe Kirk.</p><p>******************</p><p>Kirk’s bed is more comfortable than his own. And bigger.</p><p>Over the years Leonard’s learned to appreciate and enjoy these facts in spite of himself. He’s half awake, drowsing, when he feels the kiss of a blade at his neck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Precocious

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry! Work interfered with posting! Wow, coming close to the end of existing MU fics!
> 
> Please be WARNED – explicit endangerment and sexual threats to a minor (early teens). Uhm, also, explicit endangerment and sexual threats FROM a minor (because, this is Mirror Kirk we're talking about *cough*). Violence and swearing and other general Mirror verse mayhem.

Kirk’s bed is more comfortable than his own. And bigger.  
  
Over the years Leonard’s learned to appreciate and enjoy these facts in spite of himself. He’s half awake, drowsing, when he feels the kiss of a blade at his neck.  
  
“ _Mwuhthfu_ \--,” he mutters, grumbling, and it probably says something about the sad state of his life as Kirk’s permanent bitch that the feel of the blade doesn’t do more than make him cranky. They’re in Kirk’s quarters, no one else would (or could) come in, so it’s _got_ to be Kirk holding the weapon and it’s too _early_ in the goddamn morning for this and he hasn’t even had his goddamn _coffee_ yet.  
  
“Who the fuck are you?”  
  
 _Now_ adrenaline spikes through Leonard’s system, pulse pounding because…that isn’t…that voice...it's…  
  
Young.  
  
And hard.  
  
And somehow...  
  
His mind tries to reach a conclusion about something even as he chances a quick glance and, Jesus, it’s a fucking _kid_ , a teenager anyway, can't be more than fifteen or so. How he got on board and what he did with... No, there’s no way a kid – no way _anyone_ – could have taken Kirk off guard, so he’s safe, he’s got to be. He’s just…not here.  
  
“Where’s Kirk?” Leonard asks, sleep, growing concern, and the fact that there’s a fucking _knife_ at his throat making his voice hoarse.  
  
There’s a pause--Leonard could swear he’s taken the kid off guard--and then the only answer is the blade sinking in enough to draw blood.  
  
“ _Goddammit_.” Where the _hell_ is Kirk?  Leonard knows he should be worrying more about his own neck but Kirk—Kirk wouldn’t…where is he? _Where the fuck is he_?   
  
He chances turning his head a little more, the better to glare at the little punk who’s staring back at him.  
  
With eyes that are bluer than blue. And ice cold.  
  
He knows those eyes.  
  
Kirk's eyes.  
  
Well, _fuck_.  
  
They stare at each other for a moment as Leonard tries to figure out what the hell could have happened. _Time travel…inter-dimensional switching…age regression_ … Enough weird shit goes on out here in space that…  
  
The knife at his throat flicks again and he feels another burning line of pain. “Would you stop fucking _doing_ that!” he snarls, even as he holds carefully still because, shitshit _shit_ , whatever flavor Jim Kirk this is, he doesn’t recognize Leonard and obviously considers him a threat.  
  
And a Jim Kirk of any age, shape or form is dangerous even in the best of moods.  
  
In which this Jim Kirk is obviously not.  
  
“I’m only gonna ask you one more time, asshole. _Who the fuck are you_?”  
  
Leonard hesitates and then goes with his gut.  
  
Risking another tilt of his head, he looks into the brilliant blue eyes that dominate the adolescent face. “I’m Leonard McCoy and you’re James Tiberius Kirk, captain of the ISS _Enterprise_.”  
  
This gets him a snort of derision. “Are you fucking kidding me? _Please_ tell me you’re not some freak who kidnaps kids for some lame fetish fantasy. That’s just sad, man.”  
  
“Wh…I’m _not_ …” A burn sweeps his face as the kid’s words sink in and as Leonard realizes that young Kirk is in the same buck ass naked state as grown Kirk had been in when he’d dropped off to sleep next to Leonard last night. And that Leonard’s just as uncomfortably bare beneath the thin layers of sheet and blanket. “Jesus _fuck_ , kid, that’s not what this is about!”  
  
The knife doesn’t ease. “So what, then? You’re looking for ransom? Looking to hold me hostage against my mom? Oh, and somehow our clothes just kind of _fell off along the way_?”  
  
The biting teenage sarcasm provokes the unexpected, entirely stupid urge to smile. He should be taking this a hell of a lot more seriously. He’s in real danger. Leonard knows that. The kid doesn’t know him. The kid’s _not_ his Kirk. But some subconscious part of Leonard's brain is reacting as if he is. Insisting that Kirk with a knife doesn’t pose a lethal threat to him.  
  
And that instinct is gonna get his throat sliced open real damn fast if Leonard doesn’t get a whole lot more convincing in a hurry.  
  
“Look, this is hard to believe but just hear me out,” he starts, eyeing the hard eyed mini-Kirk cautiously. “It’s Stardate 2264.67. You, the James Kirk I went to sleep next to last night, are the thirty-one year old captain of the ISS Enterprise, the fleet’s flagship. We’re in your quarters. Try the computer. It’s programmed to respond to you and only you. I can’t even adjust the goddamn lights in here.”  
  
The kid’s eyes remain narrowed in suspicion as he speaks. “Computer, current location of James Kirk.” The voice is young in timbre but still 100% pure Kirk.  
  
“ _Captain James Kirk is currently located in his personal quarters._ ”  
  
“And these quarters are located where?”  
  
“ _Captain James Kirk’s personal quarters are located on the ISS_ Enterprise _, Deck Seven._ ”  
  
“And the current location of the ISS _Enterprise_?”  
  
“ _The current location of the ISS_ Enterprise _is the Advarian sector, quadrant four, coordinates 3812.7 by 6892.5._ ”  
  
Leonard watches young Kirk ponder the information. It’s disturbing because the kid’s _acting_ just like adult Kirk. Has the same facial expressions, intensity, self-possession. Hell, even the way he’s holding the too-close-for-comfort knife is familiar.  
  
“Well?” Leonard finally asks.  
  
Young Kirk shoots him a scornful look. “Computer, give me a description and timeline of the activities of the musical group ‘The Vendis.’  
  
“ _The Vendis: A popular retro-alternative band known for its use of the eighteen string lyre as well as the vocals of…_ ”  
  
Leonard listens with growing bemusement as the kid goes on to ask a series of detailed and increasingly esoteric questions, from popular culture to political figures to scientific advancements.  
  
Finally, after listening to the computer outline the theory for the latest warp technology advancements, mini-Kirk huffs in disgust. “A good computer program could have extrapolated a lot of that.”  
  
Leonard snorts. “Yeah, kid, because fooling you into thinking you’re the grown up captain of a starship that wasn’t even around when you were at…whatever age you’re at, is really gonna help with my plans for galactic dominion.” He casts another glare over his shoulder. “Those would be the plans that I _don’t have_.”  
  
Since Leonard’s neck is getting a crick from trying to watch young Kirk from his position on his stomach, he decides to take a chance. “Look, I’m gonna turn over. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t slit my throat for it.” He shifts over onto his back, keeping his movements slow and unthreatening, making sure the blanket still covers him from the waist down.  
  
He makes it around alive, so apparently the kid’s decided Leonard's maybe not a pervert kidnapper after all. Leonard sits up and studies him, keeping his eyes on the young face despite his doctor’s instinct to do a visual sweep of the adolescent body to check for healthiness and potential problems. “We should get Spock in here. He’s your first officer and he’s also your chief science officer. We need to determine what’s behind this. We need to run tests, track back through your movements…”  
  
Young Kirk shakes his head. “If I buy this, if I’m really supposed to be the captain of a starship, then this is a perfect opportunity for my first officer to kill me and take over command.”  
  
Now it’s Leonard shaking his head. “Spock wouldn’t do that.”  
  
The kid smirks. “Really. Because he’s faithful and true?”  
  
Leonard hesitates. “No. Because he’s got a lot invested in keeping you alive. In getting you back to yourself as soon as possible. Most of your command crew do.”  
  
“Oh, is that right? Enlighten me.”  
  
The next few minutes are frustrating as hell as Leonard does his best to piece together and explain the intricate web of alliances Kirk’s built up since taking command of the _Enterprise_. It’s a little humiliating how few answers he has to young Kirk’s probing questions. Leonard’s knowledge of the power plans and alliances that adult Kirk’s put in place is surface stuff at best. And that’s on the Enterprise. He’s got _no_ fucking clue what schemes Kirk’s got going outside the insular confines of the ship. But the pieces Leonard does know seem to settle something inside of young Kirk. The kid never relaxes but he does nod here and there as if what Leonard’s saying matches what he’s expecting to hear.  
  
When Leonard finally bottoms out on his knowledge he watches as the kid mentally sifts through it all, processing. Finally, young Kirk shrugs and then cocks his head and studies Leonard with an entirely different sort of stare.  
  
“So what’s your role in my plans?”  
  
“I don’t _have_ a role in your plans,” Leonard snaps. _Thank fuck._  
  
“So, what then, we just…fuck?”  
  
Leonard scowls but it’s not like he can deny it since he’s in Kirk’s bed. “Yeah, we just fuck.”  
  
Kirk’s eyes sweep over Leonard’s face and bared upper body. Sweep lower. A smirk appears. “Well, you _are_ pretty hot. For an old guy.”  
  
“Thanks,” Leonard responds, voice dry as dust.  
  
“How long have I been fucking you?”  
  
Leonard doesn’t miss the way the question’s phrased. “About eight years.”  
  
“Interesting.”  
  
After another moment of silent staring, the kid shrugs and his stance shifts. “All right, call for this Spock and have him report here. But don’t tell him why.” His knife never wavers, the threat in his face cold and clear. “Do I need to tell you what’ll happen if you try anything fancy?”  
  
Leonard resists the urge to roll his eyes. “No, but how about you put on some damn clothes first?”  
  
The smirk returns. “What’s the problem? It’s not like you haven’t seen it all before.”  
  
Leonard glares. “My Kirk’s a grown man. You’re a…how old are you, anyhow?”  
  
“Fourteen.”  
  
Younger than Leonard had estimated. Well muscled for a still developing adolescent. Tall for his age, too. Mostly it’s the poise, though. The kid carries himself like someone much older.  
  
"Well that’s too fucking young for us to be naked together,” Leonard growls. He slides awkwardly off the bed, taking the sheet with him to wrap around his waist. He feels ridiculous, especially with the kid smirking at him, but it’s better than both of them parading around bare-assed. He stomps as much as the sheet allows towards Kirk’s closet where he yanks out one of his spare uniforms. He’s _not_ going through the humiliation of trying to hide behind the sheet while dressing—and he’s sure as hell not letting mini-Kirk out of his sight—so he grits his teeth, drops the sheet and yanks his pants on commando.  
  
Once he's fully dressed he rummages through the closet. “Your uniforms’ll be too big. Same with most of your civvies. But you’ve got some sweats in here. They’re probably your best bet for now.” He turns and offers them.  
  
“Drop ‘em on the floor, walk to the wall and turn and face it.”  
  
Leonard rolls his eyes and follows the order. Suspicious little bastard. Kirk _is_ vulnerable in this state, though, no matter how much Spock and Sulu and the rest have invested in seeing him returned to normal. So Leonard supposes it’s to everyone’s benefit that, at the not-so-tender age of fourteen, Kirk’s apparently already so…Kirk-like.  
  
“All right.”  
  
Leonard turns around and frowns. Even though the gray cropped sweatpants have drawstrings and stop at the kid’s ankles they still look big. The top too. Kirk looks more like a kid in the sweats than he had naked. It makes him look…vulnerable.  
  
“We need to get you some clothes that fit.”  
  
Kirk snorts. “Yeah, that’s up there on my list of priorities. Make the call.”  
  
Leonard makes the call.  
  


******************************************

  
“Age regression.”  
  
“You are certain, Doctor?” Spock asks.  
  
“Yeah. Look at these markers – here and here – in Kirk’s bloodstream. They’re not natural. He’s been tampered with biologically. And this,” Leonard points to another data set on the screen. “While he’s been genetically altered, there’s still evidence of some of his past injuries. That poisoning incident from Exiss, for example, left trace elements of the anti-toxin in his system. Those traces are still present.”  
  
“So I _am_ the Kirk from this time and place. Something just messed with me.”  
  
Leonard looks over at young Kirk who’s staring at them from his seat on the biobed, face expressionless. “Yeah. Yes. You’re our Kirk.”  
  
The kid looks down at his hands while his legs swing restlessly. He looks so young in those damn sweats. Leonard opens his mouth—to say what, he has no fucking clue—but it remains unspoken as Kirk looks up again. Because there’s nothing young or in need of comfort in those hard blue eyes.  
  
“So who have I pissed off lately and how do we get me back?”  
  
  
  
They decide on the bold approach. Rumors fly at warp speed on a starship, better to cut them off with the truth. Spock orders the command crew to the ready room as the three of them make their way to the bridge, Spock and Leonard flanking Kirk’s adolescent form. At least the kid’s dressed in clothes that fit him; the unflappably efficient Rand having barely blinked at Kirk’s transformation before producing a perfectly tailored dark outfit that suggests a uniform without trying to imitate one.  
  
They walk with purpose, never slowing, never running, ignoring the double-takes around them. It’s the eyes, Leonard thinks as recognition flashes in the faces of the crew they pass. Those damn unmistakable Kirk eyes.  
  
With the exception of Scotty, who can’t be bothered by a wee emergency such as this one, the command crew’s already seated when they enter the ready room.  
  
The idle chatter dies, replaced by deafening silence as young Kirk makes his way to sit at the head of the table. Spock sits at his right, Leonard at his left, and for a moment they all just stare at each other. Leonard studies the faces that are studying the teenage Kirk. Chekov looks fascinated. Sulu’s frowning, thoughtful. Uhura’s unreadable poker face is firmly in place.  
  
They’re all canny enough to sit in silence and wait for more information before they decide which way to jump. Spock gives it to them, outlining the facts as they know it.  
  
“And so the logical course of action is to retrace our flight path, revisiting the planets in this system while we search our recorded data for any anomalies that the _Enterprise_ might have encountered in space. In addition, while Doctor McCoy feels that the probability of a drug being the source of the regression is low, we will analyze the replicators and ship filters for potential sources of contamination.”  
  
Spock stops talking.  
  
Kirk’s leaning forward, hands resting against the table, eyes sweeping the room.  
  
The charisma’s there. So’s the danger. But the youth and lack of memories puts young Kirk at a disadvantage in this roomful of the empire’s most dangerous predators.  
  
Predators hand-picked by Kirk.  
  
Fucking irony.  
  
Leonard feels the weight of the phaser he’d tucked into a pocket before leaving Sickbay. What the hell good it’ll do against this crowd…  
  
“You don’t remember any of us?” Sulu asks suddenly, breaking the silence that’s been stretching out, dark eyes weighing, studying.  
  
Young Kirk looks back at him calmly. “No.”  
  
“The change could be permanent.” It’s Uhura who speaks now, a hint of a challenge in her cool, perfect face.  
  
Kirk looks at her. Smirks, lazily unconcerned. Slouches back in his chair. “I hear you guys are pretty good at your jobs. I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”  
  
The staring contest continues until Uhura finally snorts and leans back, a rare glimmer of an amused smile gracing her face. “Yeah, you’re still Kirk all right.”  
  
Kirk’s smirk flashes from cold to charming. “That’s what they tell me.”  
  


  
 

  
They sort themselves out the way they usually do, falling into the verbal dance of people who work and live in each others’ pockets 24/7.  
  
Leonard’s had eight years to witness all the things that make this group so formidable.  
  
Sociopathic ruthlessness? Check.  
  
Training in all forms of warfare and military science? Fuck, yeah.  
  
A fondness for blades? _Every goddamn one of them._  
  
But in the end it’s their damn genius brains that set them apart. Individually, the command crew of the Enterprise are the best in their fields. Collectively, planets move the fuck out of their way.  
  
Ideas bounce around the room, Kirk’s dilemma momentarily just another weird problem to solve.  
  
“What is needed is to enhance efficiency of our normal data analysis program to help detect prewiously unidentified space anomalies. I can do zis. I have been working on…”  
  
“Okay, so an exact reversal of our flight path shouldn’t be that hard to recreate. I just need to calibrate the…”  
  
“I’ll go through the records compiled during our missions to the planets in this system to scan for patterns of cultural behavior or tech usage that would suggest an ability and likelihood...”  
  
As their voices wash over him, Leonard forgets for the briefest of moments why they’re here. He turns toward the captain’s chair, looking to Kirk to rein them all in like he always does. When he sees the youth sitting there quietly, the danger of the situation hits him all over again.  
  
“What about protection for the captain?” Leonard interjects.  
  
There’s a considering pause as Kirk shoots him an unfriendly look.  
  
“Exactly how much ‘protection’ does the captain need?” Uhura asks, a hint of a challenge entering her voice. The tension in the room ratchets up a notch.  
  
Kirk gives an unconcerned shrug. “I do okay protecting myself.” Leonard wonders how much of it—if any —is faked.  
  
Spock’s eyebrows lower by a millimeter. “Nevertheless, Captain, the doctor brings up a relevant point. As capable as you are of self-defense, the very nature of your current state implies a certain…” He hesitates.  
  
“Vulnerability. Is that the word you were searching for, Spock?” Uhura’s voice is sugar laced with acid. Leonard wonders if the barb is aimed at Kirk or Spock. Probably both.  
  
Kirk just cocks his head, looking back and forth between Spock and Uhura. “So are you guys fucking or something?”  
  
And the tension shifts to something closer to normal--Uhura’s death glare, Spock’s raised eyebrow and Sulu’s smothered snort answer enough.  
  
Kirk smiles politely back at them all.  
  
Leonard rolls his eyes.  
  
“Ah, I would be heppy to accompany the keptin…” Chekov starts.  
  
“No,” Leonard snaps. “You need to work on your data enhancement program.” They all need to be focused on sorting this out as fast as goddamn possible. “Besides, I need the captain down in medical. If I can get a handle on the process that affected him I can work on reversing it.”  
  
Sulu smirks. “Well then, Doc, I guess you can double as protection detail.”  
  
Leonard glares back at the helmsman. He doesn’t— _Kirk_ doesn’t—have time for Sulu’s baiting right now. “I’m a doctor, not a bodyguard. We need to get a protection detail from security. Surely there’s _someone_ in that band of sociopathic thugs that can be trusted to actually protect Kirk?”  
  
There’s another considering pause as Leonard glares indiscriminately around the room.  
  
“ _Well?_ ” Leonard growls.  
  
Smart-ass smirk gone, Sulu shrugs. “Yeah. I’ll talk to Giotto.”  
  


****************************

  
  
Jim spends a lot of his time at Children’s Court in the infirmary. Which is why it’s settling, in the middle of all the epic weird shit going on, to find himself on the familiar territory of a biobed.  
  
Not to mention _complaining_ about the fact that he’s on the familiar territory of a biobed.  
  
Of course, it’s not exactly the same. For one thing, he’s not bitching at Shep, the no-nonsense—I will break even _more_ bones if you don’t shut the hell up—infirmary nurse.  
  
No, right now he’s bitching at Doctor Leonard Horatio McCoy, his no-nonsense—I may snarl but I am also acting weirdly protective—Chief Physician.  
  
Jim being in the future and all.  
  
Only not.  
  
And isn’t _that_ a sideways mind fuck and a half.  
  
At least he knows the long-term plans he’s been putting together have been working out, even making captain by twenty-three, well ahead of his target age of twenty-five.  
  
Captain Kirk of the ISS _Enterprise_. Flagship of the fleet.  
  
The knowledge of it forms a bright nova of satisfaction in his chest.  
  
Of course, de-aging wasn’t exactly part of the plan. And now he has to survive long enough to figure out how to get turned back. Worse, he has to trust the people who have the most to gain if he _doesn’t_ get turned back.  
  
Which is why he’s sitting on a biobed in sickbay.  
  
Watching McCoy.  
  
Trying to figure the doctor out.  
  
“Seriously, McCoy, I think you’ve got enough blood. What, are you planning to clone me or something?”  
  
Provoking a person can really tell you a lot about them.  
  
Not to mention it’s fun.  
  
McCoy looks up from his computer screen and manages to give Jim a glare that is both pissed off and patient. Man has skills. “Do you _want_ to stay fourteen?”  
  
Jim rolls his eyes and then reaches out to snag a tricorder off a nearby cart, fiddling with it until McCoy snatches it away with a muttered, “Don’t touch that.”  
  
Jim smirks at him. “Y’know, I’m pretty sure I don’t let you get away with this kind of insubordination.”  
  
His smirk widens when McCoy just glares and then goes back to work.  
  
McCoy.  
  
 _Doctor Leonard Horatio McCoy._  
  
It’s a crap name for such a fuckable guy.  
  
Jim smiles his—I know you want to hit me but it would be _such_ a bad idea—smile. “Seriously, I’m pretty sure I don’t let you get away with this shit.”  
  
McCoy glares at him again. “Look, _Captain_ , how ‘bout you let me do my _job_ and work on finding you a _cure_ so you can stop being your juvenile obnoxious self and get back to being your _grown up_ obnoxious self. And _then_ you can punish me for _doing my goddamn job_.”  
  
Yeah, that snarl is definitely hot.  
  
He’d hit that.  
  
Apparently, he _has_ hit that. For _eight_ years. Which…what’s so special about the doc he’d keep him around for that long?  
  
A shame he doesn’t remember.  
  
He’d fuck McCoy now except that, based on the guy’s reaction this morning, he’s not into kids. Which, yeah, objectively, is a good thing. Nice to know adult him’s not banging a perv. There are enough of those at Court, adults who offer favors and threats in exchange for fresh meat. And more than enough parents willing to use their kids as bargaining chips.  
  
The doc though…Jim would have to force the issue. And he needs the man on his side.  
  
At least for now.  
  
“Anything?” he asks, noticing a sudden change in McCoy’s posture.  
  
“Yeah, actually,” McCoy murmurs, brow furrowing as he taps his stylus against a PADD. “I think I may have figured out…”  
  
The chiming of the comm unit interrupts as Spock—and his first officer being a Vulcan has not stopped being cool—appears on the screen.  
  
 _“Captain, Doctor McCoy, Lieutenant Uhura believes she has found pertinent information relating to the captain’s condition. We are reconvening in the ready room.”_  
  
“We’ll be there,” McCoy acknowledges and then nods at Jim. “Shall we?”  
  
Jim jumps down from the bed. “Lead the way, old man.”  
  
The eye roll makes Jim grin.  
  
  
  
The update relates to the _Enterprise_ ’s last mission, on a planet called Luxis Vertis. The mission itself had gone smoothly, the planet’s rulers practical enough to see that being friends with the Empire was a much healthier choice than the alternative. Treaties had been signed, tributes had been agreed to, and the captain had been offered his choice of the High Lord’s eighteen sons and daughters to seal the deal.  
  
It would have been rude to refuse.  
  
Uhura explains that she’s spotted references in the cultural texts to curses and aging and something vague and unhelpful called ‘The Way’.  
  
As she finishes her report Jim notices that they all look to him instinctively. Good. He gives a grim smile. “I guess we’re going to Luxis Vertis.”  
  
They make it there in two days and the High Lord, a big burly man with a very big axe, turns the High Priestess over to them with barely a protest. Based on his sly smile, he sees it as a handy chance to take out a political rival.  
  
For someone so fond of dishing out punishment, the priestess really sucks at taking it, breaking after less than a day in the _Enterprise_ ’s detention. Turns out the priestesses of Luxis Vertis considered Jim’s defiling of royal blood a ‘vile act worthy of terrible punishment’.  
  
“So the curse was actually supposed to turn me old,” Jim says, mulling over the report.  
  
“Her exact words were ‘withering of man-flesh,’” Uhura responds. Jim looks at her sharply but the lieutenant's too good to let any amusement show.  
  
“Yeah, but she didn’t take into account the small but critical differences in our physiologies.” McCoy shoots him a grim look. “Anything could have happened when the priestess hit you with that whammy. You were goddamn lucky, Kirk.”  
  
Considering withered man-flesh was on the line, Jim agrees.  
  
With the compounds in hand, McCoy immerses himself in the process of finding a cure. The doctor’s in his element, now, brainy and scientific, in charge and self-assured.  
  
It’s weirdly hot.  
  
It takes two days to finalize the antidote and Jim spends the time hacking his own computer files, knife fighting with Chekov—who is _good_ —and hiding the awe he feels that this amazing ship is _his_.  
  
Being on the _Enterprise_ just feels…right.  
  
Hanging out in Sickbay and poking at McCoy until he snaps and snarls?  
  
That feels oddly right too.  
  
  
  
“That ought to do it,” McCoy says in gruff satisfaction as he administers the last of the three hypos.  
  
“Ow.”  
  
McCoy gives him a disbelieving glare. “Ow? I do know you, y’know.”  
  
Jim shrugs and grins. “Just saying your bedside manner could be better.”  
  
McCoy snorts. “Yeah, so I’ve heard. From you.”  
  
“So, that’s it, huh?”  
  
“Yeah,” McCoy nods in satisfaction. “It’ll take full effect in approximately twelve hours. We’ll keep you here in sickbay overnight and…”  
  
“No.”  
  
The scowl’s immediate and expected. “Look, as careful as we’ve been with the testing and vetting, this is an unknown…”  
  
“I’ll stay in my quarters. You can keep me company.” Jim spreads his arms. “Anything goes wrong, I’ll have my Chief Physician to take care of me.”  
  
McCoy opens his mouth to argue and Jim just looks at him, grin slipping away.  
  
McCoy scowls then gives up with a huff. “Fine. It’s your damn hide at risk.” He picks up a tricorder and runs it over Jim, hmming in satisfaction. “Everything looks good so far. I can see the compounds starting to take effect at a cellular level.”  
  
Jim nods. “Good. So I can enjoy my last day as a teenager.”  
  
He wonders if he’ll remember it when he wakes up in the morning.  
  
Assuming he wakes up in the morning.  
  
It’s a calculated but necessary risk.  
  
McCoy snorts. “Yeah, you do that. Tomorrow you’ll be back to your usual grown up self. Joy.”  
  
Jim laughs at that. “Aw, I think you miss grown up me, McCoy.”  
  
He expects a gruff snort of derision, a sardonic glare. Instead he gets a steady, oddly unreadable look from McCoy’s usually oh-so-easy-to-read eyes. “I guess I don’t want you gone forever.”  
  
Jim stares back at McCoy, the guy who’s apparently his permanent plaything. He shakes his head. “You’re kind of nuts you know that?”  
  
Now he gets the expected snort. “Well, I hang out with you lot, don’t I?”  
  
  
Jim leaves Sickbay with McCoy’s last stern warnings ringing in his ears. The doc is such a freaking mother hen. Even after almost a week Jim isn’t sure whether to be pissed off or amused. It’s a foreign concept, that’s for sure. Jim’s heard stories of feral Klingons who are more motherly than Winona Kirk.  
  
Still, as good as he is at his job, McCoy does _not_ belong in the fleet. The man’s weak.  
  
And yet…  
  
And yet.  
  
Annoyed, Jim pushes the enigma that is the doc from his thoughts— _again_ —as he heads to the closest observation room on Deck Eleven. He wants one last look at the spectacular views. As he walks—his security detail, Liebherr and Gates, flanking him fore and aft—Jim reviews what he needs to accomplish before tonight. In case he doesn’t remember this past week once he’s cured, he’ll need to leave himself some notes about…  
  
The attack is fast, efficient and without warning. The hand hovering near his phaser—his subconscious automatically categorizing the empty corridor as a good ambush site—has it out and aiming by the time Liebherr goes down on his left. Jim’s finger is tightening on the trigger pad when the stun slams him from behind.  
  
As the phaser jolts Jim’s system and he feels himself falling, he has enough time to think _Gates_ and _traitor_ and _fuckfuckfuck_.  
  
And then he’s out.  
  
  
Jim flashes from unconscious to awareness in the space of a heartbeat. He keeps still, eyes closed as he focuses. He’s lying on his side and his hands are tied behind his back. No leg restraints. He listens. Breathing. Two men. He slits his eyes. Gates is there, on alert, phaser in hand and looking uneasy. Not the instigator then. Jim switches his attention to the other occupant of the room, big and burly and staring down at Jim with sneering satisfaction.  
  
Gee, the guy doesn’t seem to like him.  
  
Gates looks down at him and frowns. “This is stupid, you should just knife him and be done with it.”  
  
“Fuck that, Gates. We’ve got the great Captain fucking Kirk at our mercy.” The man’s voice drips with malice. “This is a once in a lifetime opportunity for payback. We’re gonna have some _fun_.”  
  
Fucking terrific. An asshole with a grudge. Although, actually, this is good. A professional would have just killed him. This guy, whoever he is, wants to play with his prey. Gates is right. It’s stupid.  
  
Now Jim just has to make sure it’s fatal.  
  
“He’s not even awake yet. Jesus, what a pussy.”  
  
“A kid’s got a different recovery rate than an adult. You know that, Stems.” Gates sounds bored and annoyed. He’s not in this for payback. Money maybe. Or he’s being blackmailed. Doesn’t matter, unless Jim can turn it to his advantage.  
  
“Yeah, well. I want to get started.”  
  
Jim watches Stems unclip something from his belt, too big for a knife, wrong shape for…shit, a portable agonizer. Jim’s heard about them. He forces his muscles to stay relaxed, don’t give it away, don’t…  
  
A familiar, blinding rush of pain slices into Jim and he arches and screams.  _Probably a sound-proofed room, nobody’ll come,_ shitshitshit _, okay, breathe,_ fuck _not as bad as the full booth…_  
  
The agonizer stays on him as he writhes and huddles. “Please! Fuck, please, please, _please_! Please stop! _Please_!”  
  
He shudders and convulses as he hears Stems laugh in delight. “Fuck, listen to that! The great Captain Kirk begging! Yeah, kid, you fucking beg. You’re gonna be begging for my dick down your throat in a minute.”  
  
The agonizer turns on again, the familiar pain driving spikes through Jim, setting cells on fire.  
  
He starts to whimper. Feels a sob building up in his throat.  
  
He wonders if he’s overselling it. Stems sounds like an idiot but Gates isn’t. They might get suspicious if he’s too much of a pushover.  
  
Jim forces his head up and gives a snarl of defiance. “Fuck you,” he gasps. “I’ll f-f-fucking kill you.”  
  
“Oh, b-b-big talk, big man.”  
  
A heavy booted foot thuds into his side and Jim feels a rib go in a star bright burst of pain before rough hands yank him up to his knees. Jim looks up at the massive man mountain who’s staring down in obvious enjoyment.  
  
“I haven’t done anything,” Jim spits out, glaring, chest heaving as he feels his eyes sheen with unshed tears. “Leave me the fuck alone.”  
  
The hand slams out, catching Jim across the cheekbone. He rolls with it enough to keep it from breaking his jaw as he goes flying back.  
  
He fights down the nausea as those same hands drag him to his knees again.  
  
“Leave me the fuck alone,” the man repeats mockingly. “Look at you, still trying to give orders. You think you’re so great. Mister badass motherfucking captain of the motherfucking Enterprise. Playing fucking god. Well, _I’m_ your fucking god _now_ , you little prick.”  
  
The man unfastens his pants, pushing them down enough to set his dick free. The thing’s already hard and jutting.  
  
One meaty hand grips Jim’s hair and pulls forward, the other holds the agonizer against his throat.  
  
“You be nice to my dick, Kirk.”  
  
The agonizer flicks on again and Jim's raw screams fill the room.  
  
When the pain cuts off, Stem is shaking Jim by his hair. “You understand me?”  
  
“Yeah, yes.” Jim shivers and watches Stem’s smile grow. “Just don’t…just don’t turn that thing on again. Please, just…I’ll be good.”  
  
“Yeah, I know you will, bitch.”  
  
Jim hoods his eyes and opens his mouth.  
  


********************

  
  
Leonard allows a smile of satisfaction as he finishes updating his report. Not too damn shabby if he does say so himself. And he does. Those compounds from Luxis Vertis are some of the strangest he’s ever encountered, not to mention dangerous as fuck. If they can be properly adapted, their results made predictable… He’ll need a hell of a lot more for testing than the small stock he has left, though. And with the priestesses insisting hysterically that the extremely rare plant has been wiped out in the development of the cure…  
  
Fuck it. That’s another problem for another day.  
  
Stretching out his back muscles, Leonard looks over at his head nurse. “Chapel, I’m heading out. Comm me if anything comes up.”  
  
“Yes, doctor,” Chapel answers. She offers a bare quirk of a smile. “Good luck with the captain.”  
  
Leonard rolls his eyes in response and heads out. When he reaches Kirk’s quarters he comms to be let in. When there’s no response he frowns. Hesitating, he hits another button. “Computer, what is the current location of Captain Kirk?”  
  
“ _That information is classified. Please enter authorization code._ ”  
  
Leonard hesitates again, uneasiness building. Kirk’s probably just out roaming the ship. He can use his medical override, but if he does it without just cause he’ll end up in a very deep pile of shit without a shovel.  
  
“Fuck. Computer, give me the current location of Captain Kirk, medical override AlphaAlphaZebraVega2275.”  
  
If Kirk really doesn’t want to be found he’ll have used his captain’s codes to override medical’s authority…  
  
“ _Use of medical override logged. Captain Kirk is currently located on Deck Eleven in storage section 32-B._ ”  
  
Leonard stiffens. That doesn’t make sense, there’s nothing over there. He jams a finger at the comm padd. “Patch me to the bridge,” he barks. “Navigation.”  
  
He cuts Chekov off before the navigator can finish his cheerful, “Hello, Doktor McC—”  
  
“I need you Chekov. Meet me on Deck Eleven, near…” Leonard brings up the schematics on his PADD. “Meet me at turbolift entrance 11-E.” He hesitates. “And bring the pirate with you.”  
  
“Doktor McCoy, are y—”  
  
Leonard cuts the transmission and hustles towards the nearest turbolift. He doesn’t run. Running on the _Enterprise_ is broadcasting trouble, which is never a good idea. So he walks. Fast.  
  
When he exits at entrance 11-E, Chekov and Sulu are waiting.  
  
“Doktor McCoy, what is wrong?” Chekov asks, eyeing Leonard with concern.  
  
“Yeah, Doc, where’s the fire?” Sulu asks, husky voice amused, body posture ready for trouble.  
  
“It’s the captain,” Leonard snaps, worry crawling through him as he starts walking. “Computer has him on this deck in storage section 32-B.”  
  
He watches as the two men walking by his side exchange glances. As one, weapons appear like damn magic in their hands.  
  
For once, Leonard’s grateful for the fact that he associates with ruthless killers.  
  
“Stay back, Doktor,” Chekov orders, his normal self effacing cheerfulness stripped away to reveal the predator that lies beneath.  
  
Leonard opens his mouth to argue and then shuts it as they approach the entrance to the storage bays. Chekov’s right. It’s the reason he called them. They’re Kirk’s best chance.  
  
They enter the storage bays, Chekov and Sulu gliding with swift and silent grace. Leonard manages the silence, doesn’t bother trying to match the grace.  
  
They arrive at section 32-B and, as the door slides open, Sulu goes high, Chekov dives low and Leonard grits his teeth and waits. He’ll give them five fucking seconds and then…  
  
At Sulu’s bemused, “Huh,” Leonard pushes his way into the room, holding his phaser and…  
  
Jesus, _fuck_. His eyes scan the room, the blood drenched scene, his doctor’s training making sense of it all, cataloguing body parts until his eyes settle on… “Jim!”  
  
The blood spattered figure looks up at them from where he’s kneeling on the floor. “Well, you guys took your fucking time.”  
  
Leonard’s vaguely aware of Sulu shrugging and saying with approval, “Looks like you had it covered, captain.” And then he’s at Jim’s side, hands running gently over the obvious injuries, checking for the non-obvious ones. “Fuck, Jim. _Fuck_. We need to get you back to Sickbay. Can you stand? I’ll get an emergency beam and...”  
  
“McCoy.”  
  
“No, don’t try to stand. Dammit, Jim, don’t try to…”  
  
“McCoy, I’m fine!” It’s the annoyance more than anything that reassures Leonard, but he still glares in exasperation as the kid stands, wobbling for the briefest of moments before he steadies.  
  
“You are _not_ fine, _Captain_ ,” Leonard snaps. “You’ve been injured and any _sane_ human being would…”  
  
“I don’t need to go to Sickbay,” the kid states flatly. “Hell, I got worse than this my first week at Court.”  
  
Leonard decides he’ll examine, and be horrified by, this fact later as he finishes cataloguing the injuries he can detect without a tricorder. There’s gonna be some spectacular bruising on the kid’s face and his probing shows injuries to the left ribs but… “All right, I can probably treat these injuries in your quarters but I’d _prefer_ …”  
  
Kirk nods. “Great, we’re in agreement then.”  
  
“Keptin,” Chekov asks, pointing to a particularly bloody wound on Vincent Stems, one of the Neanderthal’s from security, “did you do this with your teeth?” He sounds admiring.  
  
Kirk flicks his glance at the very deceased crewman and something passes through his eyes before they clear and he goes back to looking bored. “Yeah, that was before I got my hands on the phaser.”  
  
The phaser he's still holding with his bound hands behind his back. Casually aimed in Chekov and Sulu’s direction.  
  
Kirk's bright blue eyes, clear and unconcerned, move back to Leonard. “So. Keys.”  
  


**********************

  
“See, I told you. I’m fine.”  
  
Leonard snorts and puts down the dermal regenerator, turning away from where Kirk’s sitting on the edge of his desk. “Right. Cracked ribs, aftermath of an agonizer, being walloped in the face…yeah, kid, let me just sign you up for a goddamn marathon.”  
  
“Jim.”  
  
Leonard’s eyes fly to the kid’s face. “What?”  
  
Blue eyes narrow. “Don’t play dumb, doc. It doesn’t suit you. You called me Jim back there.”  
  
Leonard resists the ridiculous urge to squirm and pulls up a glare instead. “You were obviously fucking traumatized, _Kirk_.”  
  
“Uh huh. That’s me, all right. Fucking traumatized.”  
  
At the complete _lack_ of trauma showing in Kirk’s adolescent face and voice, Leonard looks away and starts to close up his med kit. Snapping it shut, he hesitates. He knows better than to ask Kirk, _his_ Kirk, anything like this but…  
  
“You said your first week at court was worse than what you went through today.” He works to keep his voice neutral. Any show of emotion, worst of all something that could be perceived as pity or concern, will surefire blow up in his face.  
  
Kirk shrugs, eyes hardening. “Yeah. I never told you about court?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Well, not much _to_ tell. Court either breaks you or teaches you how to be strong.” He looks at Leonard out of eyes always so much older than the rest of him, never more so than now. “Guess which one it taught me.”  
  
As Leonard searches for something to say, Kirk's seriousness morphs into something both darker and lighter. Leonard has enough time to feel a jolt of wariness at the devil that’s suddenly dancing in blue, blue eyes.  
  
And then Kirk smirks. “That was sweet of you, by the way. Rallying the troops. Rushing to my rescue and all. I think you deserve a reward.”  
  
Leonard frowns. “I don’t need…”  
  
Kirk reaches out a hand and brushes it slowly against Leonard’s face. “That guy, Stems, he was planning to fuck me after he was done shoving his dick down my throat. He was telling me all about it right before I shut him up.”  
  
“Fucker,” Leonard growls, sudden fury boiling up. “You’re just a fucking _kid_.”  
  
A thumb trails down to press suggestively against Leonard’s lips. He stills, fighting down the urge to jerk away and the faint, much more shameful, urge to lean in. Because he’s trained to want this.  
  
But not _this_.  
  
Not this.  
  
“That’s the thing, Doctor Leonard Horatio McCoy,” the thumb presses more insistently, seeking a way in, “I’m not a kid.”  
  
Leonard keeps his mouth stubbornly closed against the intrusion.  
  
“I don’t give it up unless I want to.” The thumb drops away. “But I’m not a kid.” And then Kirk leans in and…fuck. Leonard feels the slightest ghosting sensation against his lips before he jerks away, stumbling back.  
  
“Goddammit, kid, _no_.”  
  
And suddenly all of the softness is gone. “No?” Kirk repeats softly. “I wasn’t aware that ‘no’ was really an option between us, Doctor McCoy.”  
  
“Are you fucking kidding me? You…” Leonard shakes his head, frustration building. Why the hell he’s even surprised by the sudden threat he doesn’t know. Kid’s obviously just been biding his time, waiting until Leonard was done with the cure before forcing this.  
  
Kirk to the fucking core.  
  
“I’m not fucking you. You’re not fucking me. It’s not happening.” Leonard’s voice is flat, pushing down the anger and the pathetically ridiculous sense of betrayal he feels clawing at him.  
  
His insides knot up when, quick as thought, Kirk palms a knife, the blade gleaming dully. “Are you sure about that, McCoy?”  
  
Leonard’s gaze flickers to the knife. He should back down. Or fucking _run_. There’s a good chance Kirk won’t follow him. Will hole up here until he’s back to normal. And after that he can do whatever the fuck he wants to Leonard. Like he always has. Like he always will.  
  
“Slice me up if you want, _kid_ ,” Leonard answers grimly. “This isn’t happening.” Too much fucking pride and it never helps him. Not one fucking bit.  
  
Suddenly the knife is at his throat. “Get on your knees.”  
  
Leonard lowers himself to his knees slowly as the kid circles him. He doesn’t even feel resentment. He just feels…old.  
  
The knife comes back, kissing Leonard’s cheek. He doesn’t flinch. It whispers upwards, coming to rest so gently that Leonard can barely feel the cool, smooth threat against his ear.  
  
“Look, I’m feeling generous so I’ll offer you a compromise. I give you a blow job. You get to keep your ear. And other body parts. It’s a good offer, McCoy. I suggest you take it.”  
  
Bitter disappointment drains the fight from his body and leaves him feeling hollow. “No.”  
  
Leonard waits for the sharp, sickening pain of sliced flesh.  
  
And waits.  
  
Finally, he looks up. And something inside of Leonard unclenches and lightens when he sees the clean, baffled annoyance that’s showing on Kirk’s face.  
  
“You,” Kirk says slowly, staring down at him. “You are the _weirdest fucking guy_ I’ve ever _met._ ”  
  
Leonard watches, the odd lightness growing inside of him as Kirk scowls and stalks over to the nearby table. Placing the knife carefully down with the air of someone greatly put upon, he turns to glare at Leonard, leaning back against it, arms crossed.  
  
It’s the closest thing to a pout that Leonard’s ever seen on Kirk’s face.  
  
Not actually being suicidal—a lifetime of dumbass decisions to the contrary—he decides not to point his observation out. “Yeah, well, kid, let me tell you, dealing with you is not exactly following a _straight fucking line_ , either.”  
  
Kirk glares at him for another moment. And then he smirks. “Point.” He shakes his head. “Well, fuck. If we aren’t fucking, we may as well get drunk.”  
  
“No.”  
  
He watches Kirk’s eyes start to freeze up again.  
  
“Dammit, _no_. I’m not fucking around, Kirk. No alcohol while the changes are working their way through your system. We don’t know the potential side effects of mixing—”  
  
“Fucking _fine_ ,” Kirk cuts him off, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “ _Fuck._ We’ll play cards then.” He stalks over to his desk, grabs a deck and stalks back to the coffee table. He sits down on the couch and eyes Leonard. “If you tell me I’m too young to gamble, I _will_ fucking stab you. Repeatedly.”  
  
Leonard huffs out a breath, hauls himself up off his knees and walks over to sit down, still feeling oddly weightless. “Just fucking deal.”  
  
  
  
  
Leonard wakes up to the familiar feeling of roaming hands, possessive and sure. He scowls into his pillow even as he arches into the touch. “See you’re back to normal,” he mutters.  
  
“You’re an idiot, you know.”  
  
Leonard snorts and turns over. Kirk shifts enough to allow it before moving in again, settling over him, hard and heavy. A man in his prime.  
  
Leonard eyes him critically. “You remember anything?”  
  
Kirk smirks. “What, my stint as mini-me? I remember it all.”  
  
“Good. I’ll want to run some follow up tests. Get you down to…”  
  
“Yeah, later. Right now, I want to talk about the fact that you’re an idiot.”  
  
Leonard rolls his eyes. “Fine. What, pray fucking tell, makes me an idiot?”  
  
“I seriously almost cut off your ear, McCoy.” Kirk sounds annoyed. “You should have just let mini-me blow you.”  
  
“No.”  
  
Blue eyes narrow. “ _No_? You know, you’re learning some very bad habits. Do I need to spend some time breaking them?”  
  
Leonard feels his own eyes narrow in rebellion. “You were a fucking _kid_.”  
  
Kirk laughs, short and sharp. “By that age? I wasn’t a kid.”  
  
“Well, you should have been. And I…”  
  
Kirk stares down at him, curious. “Yeah, and you?”  
  
Leonard sighs. “I couldn’t be a part of taking away whatever…” he won’t say _innocence_ “…part of your childhood you had left.”  
  
Kirk’s eyes fill with exasperation. “That would be the childhood the kid I never was and didn’t really go back to being never actually had?”  
  
“Yes,” Leonard snaps.  
  
Kirk stares down at him.  
  
Finally… “You are the weirdest fucking guy I’ve ever met,” Kirk murmurs, and for a moment Leonard sees a much younger face staring down at him.  
  
And then it’s his Kirk again, moving his hand up to brush a thumb against Leonard’s lips. He opens for it and the thumb pushes in. He sucks. Bites at it lightly. Harder.  
  
Kirk removes his thumb and smirks. “So, how about now? Any objections to fucking you’d like to log for the record?”  
  
Leonard lifts an eyebrow. “About me fucking you?” he drawls. “No, I don’t have any damn objections to that.”  
  
Kirk’s smirk widens. “Uh huh. Dream on, _doc._ That offer is no longer on the table. Your ass is about to be fucked so hard you’re going to forget your own name.” He leans down and sucks at a nipple, tonguing and nipping at it until Leonard curses and squirms. Kirk’s smile goes predatory at the reaction. “But you’ll remember mine.”  
  
Hands come up to position him.  
  
Lube-soaked fingers push into him.  
  
And then, despite his earlier assertion, Kirk sinks in slowly, inch by ruthless inch, iron hands pinning Leonard down when he tries to encourage the process along.  
  
Leonard’s sweating and swearing when Kirk finally fills him to the hilt, pausing to grin lazily down.  
  
“It’s too dark in here. Why don’t you turn up the lights.”  
  
Leonard scowls at the order even as he moans and jerks at the feel of Kirk’s dick pushing against his prostate.  
  
“Don’t be an asshole, _Captain_. You know I…” He pauses and looks suspiciously at Kirk’s smug face. “Computer,” he says slowly, never moving his eyes from Kirk’s, “lights at seventy percent.”  
  
He watches Kirk as the lights obediently brighten. “When the hell did you…?”  
  
Kirk’s shit-eating grin just widens as he pulls out and slams in again, drawing a grunt from Leonard.  
  
As Kirk starts proving he’s a man of his word, slamming in and out, over and over, Leonard gasps and holds on, sensations battering at him but… “Computer, on what date was Leonard McCoy given control of lights in— _fuck_ ,” he feels his eyes cross as Kirk changes the angle, “James Kirk’s quarters?”  
  
“ _You are not authorized to have that information_.” The computer sounds fucking smug about that fact, too.  
  
“Fuck,” Leonard mutters.  
  
"Yeah, that's what I'm doing.” Kirk gives a grunt, picking up the pace again. “Get with the program."  
  
Kirk pistons harder, keeping up a relentless, ruthless pace and Leonard’s thoughts start to splinter and drown under the onslaught of pure _need_. “C-c-computer,” he manages to gasp out. “O-other control functions in James Kirk’s quarter that Leonard McCoy h-h-has—oh _fuck_ —access to...” The last word trails off in a strangled moan.  
  
“ _You are not authorized to have that information._ ”  
  
Leonard chokes out a half-laugh half-moan, head slamming back against his pillow.  
  
Fucking _Kirk_.


End file.
